Wisdom of War
by LindenMae
Summary: Fusion of Greek Myth and ATLA canon.  The Fire Nation and the Water Tribes have been at war for 100 years and the goddess of discord would see it last for 100 more.  Longer, better summary inside.  Slash, violence, canon character death, Azula.


**I don't own anything except all of ATLA dvds, a book of Greek myths, and a college diploma that says I'm really good at history.**

**Summary: (Fusion of Greek Myth and Avatar Canon) The Fire Nation and Water Tribes have been at war, sporadically, for a hundred years. The war in the mortal realm is reflected in the tumultuous emotions exhibited by the two gods of war, one the embodiment of passion and rage, the other a master of strategy and planning. When the goddess of discord becomes discontent with the way the war is progressing and her own lack of power, she deepens the rift between the two war gods and sets in motion an underhanded shifting of power within the Fire Nation that will be certain to create the type of chaotic fighting that she thrives on and will try the two young gods in ways they could never have imagined.  
**

This was written for the Avatar Big Bang on livejournal. I tried to make the different roles clear but it's possible that if you know nothing about Greek Myth than you might not get some things. Because there's a chance of that and I do want everyone to be able to enjoy this to the fullest, I'll lay some things out here.

Sokka is essentially Athena, the goddess of wisdom, war, and weaving. Her role as a war goddess was about planning and strategy and not really violence. Because Sokka is Athena, the Water Tribes are Athens. They're combined in this story to make my life easier, so when described, the tribes look like the Northern Water Tribe but the characters mentioned are mostly from the Southern Water Tribe in the show.

Zuko is Ares. He was the primary god of war but he was about the violence and passion of battle. The animals that were connected to him were hounds and vultures- scavenger animals that could be found at a site post-battle. The Fire Nation in this story is Sparta. Sparta was a military culture. Boys were removed from their homes at the age of seven to begin training to fight and they were feared and respected for their military prowess. Have you seen 300? That's a true story. It didn't happen quite like the film portrayed it but it really did happen. They had hegemony over most of the rest of the Greek city-states for a really long time and they and Athens were almost constantly fighting for power. There really was a siege on Athens that left the city destroyed (and a good amount of the population dead from plague).

Athena and Ares didn't actually have the kind of antagonistic relationship that Sokka and Zuko do in this fic and I can't recall reading any stories of them ever having a sexual one soo that's where this story and the Greek myths differ. I wrote this so of course Sokka and Zuko want to bone each other's brains out but they're too busy fighting to do it.

Azula is Eris, the goddess of discord. She was Ares' constant companion and rode on his chariot with him in battle. Eris had golden apples that she used to create pandemonium by offering them up and prodding people to fight over them.

The last thing is a reference made to dragon's blood being the agent that caused Zuko's scar. In myth the only thing that could kill a god was hind's blood. The hind was half woman and half deer and Zeus ordered them all killed to eliminate the threat.

Also, it's possible that some of you are going to hate the ending. It isn't a happy one but this is sort of an origins story and we all know how the series ended so that's essentially how you should imagine it would eventually end in this universe.

This was betaed by the amazing Alexb49 who writes awesome fic that you should all totally check out if you haven't yet.

Soo yea, that's all I have to say. Please to enjoy.

**xXx**

They say that when the thunder rumbles so loudly it shakes the very core of a mortal's soul it is the gods at war with each other, high in the heavens, no thoughts spared for their lowly subjects in the physical world.

They say that humans were made in the image of the gods, made with rivalry and jealousy, hatred and love, ingrained so deeply in their beings that this pathetic species was ultimately doomed from the very beginning. It is this that makes humans so appealing to those that created them, like pets with pretty plush skin and furiously beating hearts that devote their lives to pleasing their masters by building shrines and holding rites and laying down their bodies either in death or supplication merely because their gods willed it.

Mortal women like the flame haired warrior who invites the god of wisdom into her bed repeatedly despite fighting for a kingdom that does not revere him, or the pretty city girl with the vibrant smile who sometimes entertains the attentions of the fiery god of war, but only when he chooses to spurn the affections of the goddesses of the underworld and love and beauty, both. They do not know each other, these strong willed weak women, but they share a connection, a feeling of destitution and depression that can only be known by sometimes lovers who have resolved their hearts to never truly owning their counterpart in another. They do not know they share these emotions with women so high above them they cannot look upon their faces. They merely know the hollow feeling in their chests as they live their lives, walking on wet soil and breathing clear air, their beds permanently open and their only solace existing in their refusal to ever lay an offering at the foot of a statue of either of their men.

They say the thunder is the echoing of clashing swords and the battle cries of angry gods. They say but they cannot truly know the petulant attitudes of young men with all the power in the world and nothing holding them back but the soft words of a king who won't even accept the sweet smoky offerings of sacrificed meat placed on his altars. The true storms, the ones that devastate entire populations, they are the result of the wrath of this king, he who rules the sky, but they are few and far between and this benevolence makes him beloved of mortals.

He watches the battles that rage on land and sea, reflections of the constant animosity that lingers between the two gods of war, and only sometimes does he intervene, only when their petty feud threatens the safety of those he considers _his_. He tries to create peace, tries to understand the tension between them, but they are older and they are driven by lust and passion and he is driven by the need for balance and it is rare that those things are easy to reconcile. He is the King of the gods but he is a young king and he does not always understand the nature of those that he rules, mortal and immortal alike.

**I**

Zuko stands, resolute and glaring, on a craggy precipice above the city of his enemy and watches as they prepare for yet another battle in this never ending war that he thrives on. He narrows his good eye and fists his hands around the harnesses of his ever loyal eel hounds, waiting patiently at his heels for a command. He does not recognize the new general leading flat- footed troops in a series of fluid fighting forms that would almost resemble a choreographed dance if the men behind him were wearing red instead of blue. Zuko scowls at the man, graceful and sure, and wonders what would pull someone like this to the Water Tribes, who lack even the grace of drunken babies when not on their ships.

"Tell me, brother, does it make you angry that the strategy loving weakling got him first?"

Zuko stiffens but manages by using all of his control, of which he has precious little, to school his features and reign in his emotions. It is a long running game they play, the goddess of discord and he, one that he rarely ever wins. But he tries, nonetheless, to prevent his sister from getting the better of him.

She comes up behind him, silent and light on her feet as a cat, and peers over his shoulder at the dark young mortal who could have easily passed as a son of the god of wisdom if not for his unnatural grace and the piercing black eyes that Zuko can see clearly, even from his high up perch.

"His name is Jet." She whispers into his good ear and he shudders when her breath hits his skin. It is cold like her heart and it stings against his fire heated flesh. "He's Earth Kingdom. He has no place in this war."

Zuko does not need her to tell him this. It is obvious in the way this man moves, comfortable with his feet on the hard packed soil and light, _so light_ that Zuko thinks he would be just as comfortable in the trees that cover almost every inch of his homeland. He almost hopes that this man doesn't die before he gets a chance to return, just so Zuko can see if he's right.

He feels her shift behind him, running one slender, cool finger across his neck as she moves to look over his other shoulder. He can't see her malicious smirk of delight from this angle, can't feel her frigid breath on the dead skin of this cheek, but he knows she's there all the same.

"I hear your little rival took him to bed to convince him to fight. He bent over and took it like a woman just to bring him here. Just. To beat. You."

"Be quiet, Azula." Zuko spits out with his teeth clenched and one of his hounds whines when he pulls on the harness just a little too hard. He struggles to block her out, to maintain focus, repeating his personal mantra over and over in his head.

_Azula always lies. Azula always lies._

But Azula tells the truth when it suits her. She moves around him and laughs, a reverberating cackle that chills his bones, and the glint in her eyes grows stronger as she revels in the fury and the hatred radiating from his body.

"The dynamic has changed now, hasn't it, brother? He let a mortal man take him, degraded himself, just to ensure victory. You should feel honored that he thinks so highly of you as an opponent."

A breeze picks up and disturbs her hair, blowing it in his direction and carrying her scent, blood and apples, to his nose. He wrinkles it in distaste and mentally debates the outcome of letting his hounds tear her limb from limb. She merely smiles as if reading his mind, a sharp glint of white teeth against crimson lips, and holds out her hand. He doesn't need to look to see the golden apple resting in her palm or the rivulet of red that will run from the point she has pierced with her fingernail.

"You don't have to believe me, Zuzu; they're only rumors of course."

He ignores her and strains his eyes, searching the rocking boats in the harbor for Hakoda, the favorite hero of the god of wisdom and strategic warfare, but he cannot see him. He does not believe his rival would throw away such well earned loyalty for an Earth Kingdom rat, but Azula is the goddess of discord and it is her natural talent to worm her way under the skin of those with volatile tempers such as his.

"Where did you hear this?" He finally forces out, bile rising in the back of his throat at the unwelcome image. There is no mistaking that this boy is beautiful but Zuko has never allowed a mortal male to lay with him and of the immortal men there is only one. There are no established boundaries in his relationship with the other god of war and Zuko has had his fair share of affairs with women, both mortal and immortal, but this… feels different and he does not know why. He isn't sure if it's the strategic motive behind the other god's transgression or this boy's obvious beauty being thrown in his own scarred face, but he realizes- too late to mask the emotion in his voice- that he feels betrayed.

Azula looks almost gleeful beside him and her words come out as soft as a purr, but Zuko is fully aware of her claws resting just below the surface.

"Nowhere… everywhere. Whispers on the wind. Women's gossip in the markets. Men's gossip in the bathhouses."

He bristles at her evasive response and releases his grip on his hounds' hackles so that he can sink his fist into the brittle bone of her cheek, but she stops him with a simple cock of her head and that suspicious sparkle in her eye. She turns away from him and pretends to admire the crash of the waves on the rocks below.

"The sea seems awfully angry today. Do you think Katara has heard the news about her brother's preferences?"

Zuko shudders and hopes that she hasn't. The goddess of the sea has a terrible temper when she lets it loose and if _she _knows, then there is no doubt that Aang knows, and there is no hope of the Fire Nation winning a war in which both the sea and the sky have chosen the other side. And Katara _will _choose her brother; that Aang will follow is an assumption but a logical one. Having the King and Queen of the gods against him will all but cement his defeat.

"It's time to choose, brother. Pick your champion and crush the Water Tribes once and for all."

He growls, low in his throat, and steps away from her. He is immediately warmer for the distance though the bile in the back of his throat remains, sour and thick.

"I stand behind Iroh and Lu Ten. They are strong and honorable. They are fit to lead the Fire Nation. Iroh is the first born prince. The Fire Nation is his by right."

The goddess of discord looses an unearthly shriek that pushes Zuko's hounds to their feet, teeth bared, to hiss at her.

"You're a fool, Zuko! You _choose_ fools!"

"I choose _honor._"

His eyes flash with fury and with no thoughts of discomfort he reaches out and wraps his fire encased fingers around her wrist. She howls with pain but does not retaliate. He does not face her. He keeps the scarred and distorted skin of the left side of his face to her but continues to appraise her from the corner of his eye. It says more than words can.

"The throne is not Ozai's."

"You could give it to him," she hisses but her words evaporate like steam between them.

"I yearn for war just as strongly as you do, Azula, but I won't create chaos within my nation to achieve it. Iroh will lead the army against the Water Tribe and fight with _honor_ as Fire Nation soldiers are bred to do."

"_Honor_." She spits the word as if it tastes foul upon her tongue. Her nails have dug so deeply into the skin of the apple she holds that her own skin runs red with rivulets of the bloody mess that trickles from it. "You'll stand behind Ozai, brother, when your precious Iroh fails for his weakness…"

Zuko slides his gaze back to the dark skinned warrior on the ground and his heart hammers against his ribcage. His anger is all consuming and with his sister's prodding he is quickly losing his tenuous grip on rationality. He drops her wrist with a violent gesture and brings his hand to his face. He lays his palm against the dead skin of his cheek where he cannot feel his own touch and with a bloodcurdling howl of pain he emits a stream of fire from between his lips that lights the sky and catches the eyes of the Water Tribe warriors beneath him. Then he is gone.

**II**

The gods make their home in a carved out Cliffside marked by upside down turrets and imposing columns that would dwarf even giants. Tunnels twist in mazes through the rock and fog enshrouds the stone so that no mortal may find it without divine aid. It is at the entrance to the realm of the goddess of the vine, that Zuko finds himself, emotions at war within his mind.

Rich soil sinks beneath his boots as he crosses the threshold that marks the entrance to her world and the escape from all others. It is a lush, living wonderland that overwhelms the senses and intoxicates the mind.

A fat satyr, resting his human hands atop his rotund human belly, greets him with a complacent grin that can only be explained by near constant overindulgence. His shaggy coat is matted with spilled wine and woven through with wild blossoms and grape leaves. Zuko snarls at the thing and keeps a safe distance between them, not wishing to become the unfortunate focal point of the creature's notorious libido, but the satyr remains unfazed and glassy-eyed.

"Where is your goddess, goat?" He asks slowly and with precision, all in vain. The satyr immediately looks confused by the question and his grin only grows wider and more imbecilic.

"My goddess? Why, my goddess is everywhere in this realm. She is in the earth and in the trees and…"

Zuko holds up a hand and allows it to flame.

"Do not try my patience." He growls and the satyr blinks, his eyes slightly clearer for the effort.

"I will take you to her. I am Huu." The satyr holds out a hand, indicating that Zuko should follow him and with a great self-sacrificing sigh, the god does. The creature immediately turns and begins to make his own path through the wilderness, plodding along on his short, goat legs.

"Worthless creature." Zuko grumbles, but the satyr either doesn't hear him or doesn't care.

He has nearly run out of patience, and is close to exploding and burning the coat from the satyr's back for leading him on a pointless trek, when the sight of the goddess's personal grotto looms before him. The yawning open mouth of a massive cave dominates the area and at the very fore of it sits the goddess, supported on either side by massive, blind badger moles. She turns her sightless eyes upon him and the satyr as they approach and she smiles, an expression that, upon her face, is neither welcoming nor fearsome but something in between. It starts Zuko's skin shivering anyway and gives him the distinct impression that the goddess already knows more than she should.

Her vines tangle around his ankles as he walks, threatening to trip him up and tear apart the façade of self assurance he maintains even in front of someone who cannot actually see him. When he finally reaches her, he has had enough of the encroaching plant life and the banal conversation of the satyr and he sinks gratefully into a seat of rock and moss that she has called up from the earth for him. The great badger moles, against whose claws the goddess rests, blow fat gusts of air at him as they sniff his person. The goddess pushes a tangled lock hair out of her face and digs her toes deep into the soil before knocking Zuko's shoulder with one fisted hand and signaling to the satyr with the other.

Zuko watches the goat-man go, not giving voice to his doubts that the creature will remember to come back once he's fetched the wine that the goddess sent him for.

"So Sparky, to what do I owe this visit?" The goddess asks, the false sweetness dripping from her words so thickly, Zuko swears he can see it.

It is not that the goddess bears him any ill will, it is just in her nature to mock and provoke and, unlike some of the other gods- namely the goddess of the sea- Zuko embraces her abrasive attitude. She is honest, blatantly so, and sometimes- times like this- he needs that honesty. Sometimes he just needs the wine.

"Is it wrong for me to need some time not spent fighting, Toph?" He asks, knowing as each word comes out of his mouth that she will see right through him without seeing him at all.

"You?" She barks out an incredulous laugh. "Yes."

"I'm tired." He breathes heavily and unconsciously prods the dead skin of his scar.

"Is that all? I would think it would take more than that to bring _you_ here."

"What is that supposed to mean?" He bristles, defensive. He doesn't want to explain himself. He just wants to drink until he forgets.

"Unless this is about Sokka?" Toph stares just to the right of him as she speaks, as if there is something of more importance over his shoulder. But when the satyr returns with the wine, waddling far too slowly for Zuko's liking; she immediately knows and holds out her hands for a massive goblet nearly overflowing with crimson liquid.

It amazes Zuko every time he watches her drink that she never seems to lose control the way her followers do, the way he almost hopes he will. He swipes his own goblet from the satyr, spilling a good amount of the wine inside onto his pants. He has a white-knuckled grip on the goblet's stem as he tries to reign in his temper.

"The god of wisdom is my enemy in this war. If he _was_ the source of my problems, it would make perfect sense." He chooses his words carefully, though they provide no barrier against Toph's insight.

"Oh Sparky. What happened this time?"

Zuko spares a second to wonder, based on the exasperation in her voice, how the rest of the gods must feel about his ongoing feud with the other war god, but he can't allow himself to care. There is too much at stake, his honor most importantly. He's just as tired as the rest of them but Sokka has taken the fighting to a completely different level and Zuko can't just let that go. He _can't_. And as much as he wants Toph to tell him that the rumor can't possibly be true, he also doesn't want to repeat it, doesn't want the foul words on his tongue.

"The details aren't important." He growls out, swallowing great gulps of wine and relishing the bitter taste on his tongue.

"Why? Are they sordid?"

Zuko just glares at her, forgetting momentarily that she can't see his expression. After he remembers, he keeps glaring because it's the easiest face to wear with one eye burned almost permanently shut.

She pouts for a second when she realizes that he's not going to be forthcoming with his story and then just laughs, vines and flowers sprouting up around her as she encourages him to drink.

"Fine, Sparky. Have it your way. I'll get it out of you one way or another."

It is a welcome distraction but not a lasting one.

**III**

Zuko feels no better for having indulged, only slightly off center and still angry, but he's lost focus on the why. He stands in his chambers and stares at the crimson and golden tapestries and linens tossed about the room. They are blood and fire and scream violence at him, something that he normally relishes, but at this moment only inspires emotions within him that mix with the wine and conspire to make him physically ill.

"Zuko."

He turns, not quite steady on his feet, to face the goddess of the underworld. Her solemn expression is made more severe by the thick curtain of her straight black hair that casts shadows across the sharp features of her face. She steps toward him, her movements graceful and smooth. An elegantly fingered hand slides over his shoulder to cup the back of his neck while the other slips beneath the folds of his tunic; pushing it open and slipping it softly over the bare skin of his chest.

"Mai." He breathes and slips an arm around her waist.

She wrinkles her nose and furrows her eyebrows at him before pushing him away. His mouth falls agape at the treatment and he is left silenced and perplexed by her attitude.

"What?"

"You're drunk." She states, disapproval echoing in her tone.

"I…"

"Honestly Zuko, don't you think Ty Lee would have been a better choice for you in this state? The goddess of love doesn't discriminate, after all." She examines one long fingernail and casts a reproachful glare at him from the corner of her eye when he reaches out for her.

He scowls and tears off his tunic, tiny tendrils of smoke licking at his fingertips.

"I will not touch anything that's been tainted by_ him_." He spits, an image of the god of wisdom flitting through his mind, and Mai just rolls her eyes at his tantrum.

"Have fun never touching anything again, then." Mai drones, the tiniest of smirks playing on her pale lips when his fists clench and his eyes alight with fury. "Please," she yawns. "You are the only warmongering buffoon I would ever let touch me."

Zuko's stance softens with relief but the wine in his system doesn't want to allow him to let go of his anger that quickly. His natural countenance demands he hold even this false grudge until at least the next battle.

"I don't want to talk about him," he finally bites out, the words short and clipped and quick. "I don't want to talk at all."

He grabs for her wrist and pulls her to him, holding her tight against his chest so that she can feel the heat of his body through her robes. Mai opens her mouth to form some disdainful retort but Zuko crushes his lips to hers before she can. He isn't one for playing games and he knows she's interested else she wouldn't still be there. He is able to maneuver, without stumbling too overtly, over to the bed and he sinks down onto the feather soft mattress where she straddles him, her weight pressing him down. Her robes pool about her hips like a great lake of ink bleeding out from her snowy white skin.

They're both only half in the moment, Zuko too drunk to be fully aroused and Mai too distant to get him there. There's never a chance that they won't hear the clatter of wood hitting the stone just outside the room, or Sokka's soft grumblings as he attempts to retrieve the scrolls he's just scattered across the floor. Mai barely turns her head to acknowledge the disruption but Zuko's good eye immediately widens and he makes quick work of dislodging the goddess from where she is draped about his hips. She glowers at him as she pulls her robes back over her shoulders but he hardly notices. He is out of the room in three strides, Sokka's tunic clutched tightly in his fists before the other god has a chance to recover himself.

Sokka's blue eyes go wide with confusion at the rough treatment. He's no stranger to Zuko's outbursts and they're at war, he's well aware of that, but he doesn't know what he's done to incur this current attack against his person. The scrolls lay forgotten, to Zuko not Sokka, at their feet, parchment detailing every strategy that Sokka has mapped out, every plan he has conceived to ensure the Water Tribes' defeat of the Fire Nation. All things Zuko should want to know but that escape his attention entirely in favor of Sokka's wide-eyed expression and Zuko's irrational jealousy.

Mai clears her throat from behind them but Zuko pays her no mind, his focus entirely on his fellow war god. With a heaving sigh, she brushes past them, a piercing glare aimed at Zuko as she knocks him with her shoulder.

"The rest of us are losing patience with this little boy rivalry of yours." She mutters as she glides down the hall. Sokka looks after her as if she'll turn around and intercede on his behalf, not because he cannot take the raging war god in all his fury but because he doesn't want to risk any damage being done to his scrolls. Realizing that she isn't coming back, he turns his attention back to the issue at hand, narrowing his eyes at Zuko and attempting to shake him off.

"What is your problem?"

"You are." Zuko growls, the look in his eyes fierce and hateful and, strangely, hurt.

"I figured that much out for myself." Sokka snaps back, shoving Zuko off sharply and turning his attention to the floor.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Sokka." Zuko's tone of voice sends a shiver down Sokka's back but he squares his shoulders and stands erect.

"What are you talking about?" He folds his arms over his chest and tries to look imposing but it's hard when his chin is at the same level as Zuko's shoulder. He grimaces and arches his back, trying to stand a little taller.

"You _know_ what I'm talking about." Zuko's voice is heavy and venomous in Sokka's ear. He's backed up against the wall, the stone cold through the thin fabric of his tunic.

"You're crazy! And you're drunk. If you're not going to tell me why you're mad at me then could you please get out of my way? I have work to do. Some of us rely more on our brains than our brawn." His eyes flick across Zuko's bare chest and he almost pouts.

Zuko pushes closer and braces his hands on the wall on either side of Sokka's head. He leans in, breath coming heavy through his nose.

"I saw the Water Tribes' new general today. _Your_ new general." Zuko whispers against Sokka's ear, his tongue flicking out and tracing a line around the sensitive skin of the shell.

Sokka stiffens, caught. "It was a strategic move. You can't be this angry about _that._"

Zuko growls and lifts one hand off the wall only to slam it back down, making Sokka jump. "You let him fuck you. You _whored_ yourself out to him and you question my anger?"

There are flames in Zuko's eyes and Sokka feels his breath catch in his throat, but he can't make himself move. His mind is racing and Zuko's proximity is suffocating him.

"I don't… I didn't. Zuko."

"Do not try to lie to me. Just don't."

Sokka tries to breathe, tries to unfold his arms and reach out to the angry young man that is barely an inch from him but feels a million miles away.

"We're at war Zuko. We've been _fighting_ for years. I can't think about you every time I make a decision that concerns my tribes." His fingertips ghost along Zuko's sides and he pulls his hands away as if burned but there's no fire around Zuko, not yet.

Zuko stares at Sokka's lips as he talks, watching them move with something like hunger in his eyes. He lets out a little breath when Sokka's fingers brush his skin and his fists clench against the wall, fingernails scraping the stone. He brings a hand down and curls his fingers in Sokka's hair, pulling his head back and exposing his throat. Something between a groan and a protest escapes Sokka's lips but Zuko's already slotting their hips together, pressing his erection into Sokka's hip and Sokka can't bring himself to push Zuko away. He can't bring himself to even want to, not when he can feel his own erection growing in the pocket of heat being created by their compressed groins.

"Zuko…" Sokka swallows audibly when Zuko's lips press against the skin at the edge of his jaw, teeth scraping harder than they should.

"This is what you want, isn't it? Is this what you let him do to you? Press up against you like this? Or did you let him bend you over, face down because you were too ashamed to let him see you." Zuko thrusts up every time he emphasizes a point and even though Sokka's mind has gone foggy with arousal, he's listening to every word.

He groans once, because this feels amazing and he's missed it, then flattens his hands against Zuko's chest and shoves. Taken by surprise, Zuko stumbles backward, barely catching himself with a snarl on his face.

"Don't think you can push me around, Zuko. I'm not going to lie down and roll over just because I did something that you didn't like. I'm a god of war, same as you." Sokka keeps his eyes narrowed on Zuko as he crouches to retrieve his scrolls, shoveling them haphazardly into his arms as quickly as he can in case Zuko decides to attack him again and not as nicely as before.

"I'll see you on the battlefield," he bites out just before he turns on his heel and stalks away as quickly as he can without actually running.

**IV**

The second prince of the Fire Nation watches a pair of buzzard wasps endlessly circle the airspace just outside his window. They are high up in the sky and their images shimmer and disappear in the bright sunlight but, even when he can't see them, he knows they are there. Their existence is a constant torment, a reminder of one of his rasher actions. Below them, his kinsmen practice and prepare for battle, blissfully ignorant of the bad omen just above their heads. He is the only one that can see the birds, that knows the Fire Nation no longer has the whole support of their patron god.

"Prince Ozai." A sweet, singsong voice echoes about the marble walls of the chamber, the room suddenly darkened despite the glaring sun outside. Ozai whirls about, searching for the voice, but finds himself still alone. There is a soft tickle of air against his ear, like a breath, and then a whisper of a laugh and the smell of apples.

A shadow looms at his peripheral vision but in each and every direction he turns, he sees only empty space and shadows being cast against the marble by torches he is sure he didn't light. He snarls and lashes out at nothing, sending a column of fire across the room to engulf yet another shadow. The laugh comes again, a woman's, high and condescending and it sends a sharp tingle down his spine.

"Now, now. Is that any way to greet a guest? You'll find that I'm quite a bit smarter than my brother and I have no intention of falling victim to a bowlful of dragon's blood at your hand today or any other." The woman's words are quick and matter of fact but it is clear in her tone that she is mocking him and Ozai bristles with anger. He does his best to repress it and his lip curls up in a half grimace as he slides his eyes as far to the sides of their sockets as they will go, searching for the elusive shadow. For Azula.

"Forgive me, goddess. That was a rash mistake of my youth. I am lucky to be alive and I thank the god of war everyday for my life." The words taste foul on his tongue; the effort of humbling himself a monumental feat.

The goddess's laughter rings out once again, bouncing off the walls and pillars and resounding painfully in his ears.

"Luck has nothing to do with it. _I_ am why you still breathe. Do you really think you could attack a god, the god of _war_, like you did and _live_?" Her voice has gone cold and it sends shivers crawling across his skin. He can feel her presence against his back and it leaches heat from his body even through his heavy robes. "But make no mistake, Prince Ozai, I do admire you for your ambition."

He looks up sharply at the admission, wisely keeping his mouth shut, but grinding his teeth at the suddenly light feeling in his chest. He has no room to hope. He secured his place with one ill-conceived action and the flickering bodies of the buzzard-wasps outside of his window are there so that he never forgets.

"You don't believe me?" She whispers sugary-sweet in his ear and within seconds there is a flash of impossibly blue flame in the sky and the birds are gone, not a speck of falling ash to indicate they were ever there, if they even were. "Does that help?"

"The buzzard wasps…"

"Gone."

"What do you want from me?" His voice is edged in doubt but he cannot keep the slight glimmer of hope out of it.

"I have a proposition for you, Prince Ozai. It will really benefit you more than anything, in the end. You just have to be willing to play by my rules."

"And what rules are those?"

"It's really very simple. I want to make you Fire Lord. All I need for you to do is get your brother and his progeny out of the way."

Ozai's shoulders stiffen as he registers the meaning of her words. He feels her playing with a lock of his hair and he wants to face her, to look into her eyes and see if she means what she says, but he knows if he turns she'll just disappear.

"You would have me commit fratricide?" The venom in his accusation doesn't elude Azula, who merely laughs and cards his long black hair through her slender fingers.

"Not at all. There are ways to eliminate people without having to bloody your own hands. Killing your brother in his sleep might be quicker but it would only be detrimental in the long run. No, I don't want you to kill your brother at all. Be a little more inventive, Ozai. Tell me, what is dear Iroh planning to do next in this war with the Water Tribes?"

Ozai sweeps his gaze out across the troops and clenches his fists at his sides. "He plans to go straight to their stronghold, to take their biggest city and reduce them to nothing but a few scattered tribal holds. I don't see how that will…"

Azula cuts him off with a sharp tug of his hair. "Think about it. Your brother is a hero, an _honorable_ man. He and his son will be right at the front of the army, nothing between them and a horde of angry Water Tribe warriors but their armor and their own firebending. How easy it would be for one or both of them to be felled in the line of duty. How unsurprising."

"How do you expect me to ensure that Iroh and Lu Ten perish in the fight without doing the deed myself?"

"I don't even expect you to be there, though I'm sure it will please you to watch. Nor do I expect you to end your brother's life. Only Lu Ten _must_ die."

"But then my brother will still become Fire Lord! You said…"

"I know what I said, Prince Ozai. For all that Prince Iroh is honorable, he is weak and emotional. He's not like you, cold and driven. You would make the perfect ruler, like your father, no silly needs and feelings to distract you from the ultimate goal. If Lu Ten dies, Iroh will crumble. He will be worthless as a ruler and Fire Lord Azulon will have no choice but to hand the throne to you. No choice if he doesn't want his budding empire to fall apart."

There is a sick sort of glee coming through Azula's words and if Ozai could see her, he would be astounded by the fire light in her gleaming golden eyes.

"I still do not understand how you expect me to orchestrate this." He reminds her but his own voice is beginning to echo her malicious excitement.

"That is for you to figure out. Prove to me that you are as ruthless as I think you are; that you have what it takes to become the most powerful leader the mortal world has ever known. Make sure that Lu Ten is out on the front lines with Iroh and I will do the rest. Lu Ten will die and the throne will be yours."

"Fire Lord…" Ozai mouths the title and slowly allows a sharp smile to cut across his features. He only becomes aware of the goddess's disappearance when light once again spills through the open windows and floods the chamber. When he turns, the only indication of her visit is a golden apple sitting in the middle of the floor.

**V**

The Northern City, the Water Tribes stronghold, is a magnificent sight. It is efficient and protected, with walls that rise up on every side and sparkle in the sunlight and make any person that looks upon them feel small, smaller than small. Insignificant. Sokka, the god of wisdom and war, the father of strategy, does not feel this way but, instead, he is proud. He looks upon his city in all its glory like he molded the buildings and the walls from the ice, himself.

He looks at his navy, the best in the world, and feels confidence inflate in his chest. He has been fighting with Zuko, and by consequence the Water Tribes have been fighting with the Fire Nation, for years, _hundreds_ of years and he's grown tired of it. War is only part of his deific duties and while it's been fun, his attentions are waning. He knows that Zuko is growing weary too, though he'll never see Zuko admit it and if he thought there could be such an end to this war as a truce, he might actually attempt to work one out, but Zuko's too stubborn and proud to end this feud with anything other than a distinct win or loss and if that's the case, then Sokka is too.

The Fire Nation may have polluting machines that look imposing but the Water Tribes have brilliance and tactical skill. The Water Tribes have the sea on their side no matter how many times she claims to be above the fighting. Sokka is confident in his warriors because they have heart and the Fire Nation only has rage.

The Earth Kingdom boy that he found to lead the warriors on land is amazing. Sokka watches him move and appreciates his grace and the fierce determination in his eyes. Jet may not have any ties to the Water Tribes and thereby no way to ensure loyalty, but he was clearly born to fight and bears only ill will toward the Fire Nation, so Sokka has little worry that he will change his mind.

"I don't know if it's smart to taunt Zuko this way, Sokka." Sokka stiffens then softens immediately, the sloping line of his shoulders an invitation of welcome to the owner of the soft voice that has startled him. His sister strides across the rock to stand beside him, warming his side where she leans in ever so slightly.

"I'm the god of wisdom, Katara. Of course it's smart. Smart is what I do." He glances at her profile and then at Aang who is always by her side.

The looks on their faces are mirror images of doubt.

"I know what I'm doing!" He almost whines but, of course, doesn't because men and gods do not whine.

"Of course you think you do, Sokka. But Zuko doesn't and we're just worried that things might get out of hand. You know how his temper is." Katara's point is valid but Sokka chooses to look away and watch the soldiers below rather than admit that to her.

"We've heard the rumors." Aang speaks softly, reaching out a hand to lay it on Sokka's shoulder. "Do you really think that hurting him is the best way to defeat him?"

Sokka snorts but keeps his face turned away so that they won't see the inkling of doubt in his own expression.

"I'm not responsible for Zuko's wild imagination. He can think whatever he wants. In fact, it's better this way. His irrationality will probably work out for me in the end."

Katara raises a brow and crosses her arms over her chest, clearly underestimating Sokka's ability of foresight. "And how will it do that?"

"If his emotions are compromised then he won't be thinking straight. _Obviously_ I will. Patience and focus will win out over brute strength and a temper tantrum."

"Are you sure about that? You're a great warrior, Sokka, but so is he and the Fire Nation is far more militarized than the Water Tribes."

"This Jet is impressive though." Aang relents, eyes wide with admiration at the way the warriors sweep across the ground behind their new general.

"Katara, I have to have faith in my plans. I_ need_ to beat him. Aren't you tired of Fire Nation victories? Of Zuko and Azula lording them over the rest of us?" Sokka's attempt at remaining stony and still is lost as he begins to gesticulate wildly with his hands, emphasizing his point.

"I think you're exaggerating just a bit…"

"_Katara._"

"Well of course I'd like for the Water Tribes to win! But you've had plenty of victories too. I just don't want to see this degenerate into something terrible. When was the last time you and Zuko did anything other than fight? You used to be friends, more than."

Katara's eyes are huge and blue and pleading with him to see the light of something that is clear to her but completely hidden from him. He sets his jaw and steels his gaze.

"Maybe in another hundred years we will be again."

"Sokka..."

"Enough, Katara. I'm sticking to my plan. My instincts are telling me that this is the right way and I am going to listen to them."

"Fine. But don't say that we didn't warn you!" With a frustrated growl, Katara is gone and Sokka is left alone with Aang on the cliffside, the wind whipping about their bodies with a ferocity that is almost foreboding.

"Think about telling him the truth, Sokka. I know he's hurt you too but I have a feeling that leaving things this way is a bad idea."

"Fine. I'll _think_ about it."

"Okay. That's all I ask." Aang offers him a shaky smile and Sokka tries to smile back but the conversation has left him feeling empty and less sure of himself than he needs to be, half of him enjoying a malicious sort of satisfaction at the idea that Zuko is hurting because of him. The other half aching to listen to Aang, to find Zuko and defend himself and maybe spar for the fun of it like they used to, instead of for the taste of blood and victory. Aang opens his mouth as if to say something more but closes it and looks away, giving Sokka's shoulder one last pat before he, too, is gone.

It is hours before he senses anyone come near him again, a blink of an eye for him but enough time for the frigid wind to make his muscles ache and tense. The wind howls and whistles in his ears and immediately puts him on edge and the shiver he feels crawl across his skin this time is not from the icy cold or his own insecurities.

"What are _you _doing here?" His voice is low and angry and hopefully even.

"Why is no one ever excited to see me?"

"I'm sure it has nothing to do with the way you're always trying to make everyone miserable, Azula." Sokka growls out without ever turning to face her, and Azula just laughs and stands in front of him, blocking his view with her body.

"You wound me, Wisdom."

"Not nearly as deeply as I'd like to." Sokka's eyes are cold and hard like the steel of the Fire Nation ships, Azula's glint like gold with mischief and cruelty.

"You try so hard to be this big, strong warrior but all you're really good at doing is moving tiles around a Pai Sho board."

"What are you playing at, Azula?"

"Oh nothing. I'm just curious. How does it feel to know that your plans are going to fail before you even get a chance to put them into motion?" There's a smirk on her face, blood red lips twisted up at the corners, and Sokka has a sudden feeling of falling, of his stomach dropping out. All the doubt that has been consuming him suddenly has a place to take root and grow within his chest.

"What are you talking about…" He speaks slowly, realization damning him with every syllable, rage unfurling in his chest as he advances on her. Azula shows no signs of worry or fear, the look in her eyes simply goading him to take one step closer, just one more.

"I really didn't think it would be this easy to pit you and Zuzu against each other. One little rumor was all it took and you both played right into my hands."

He reaches out, his fist quick, and wraps his hand around her neck, his skin dark as mud against the pale pallor of her throat. His other hand goes to his hip and the hilt of his sword but there's no light of recognition in her expression, no awareness of any danger. She's laughing at him, mocking him, goading him.

"_You._ You told him lies."

"Of course I did. You act like you're surprised. You should have expected this more so than anyone. I'm your antithesis. All of your plans and your strategies, they fall apart in the face of chaos."

"Why are you telling me this?"

He tightens his grip around her throat but she doesn't as much as blink. Her eyes are small and sharp, her skin's as cold as the tundra in which they stand but Sokka doesn't let go. His emotions are a whirl inside him, different feelings all fighting for dominance. The doubt he felt before is the strongest and attached to it is dawning recognition of his own failure.

"Just because I can. Because I'm going to win and there's nothing you can do to change that, so why shouldn't I get to enjoy the look on your face as you realize your impending loss just as much as my ultimate victory?"

Her smile is sharp and Sokka can feel the cut of it against his skin like the blade of his own sword.

"I'll tell Zuko the truth."

"That won't do you any good. He already hates you. I'm sure not as much as he hates me but I'll live_._ Even if he were to believe you and take you back, there's nothing the two of you can do. My plan is already in motion. By the time you'd be able to convince him that you're not the worthless whore he thinks you are, it will be. Too. Late."

"And then what? What can you possibly gain from this?"

She lays her hand atop the broad fingers at her throat and slowly peels them away, one by one. They leave garish purple bruises on her skin but if she's in pain she doesn't acknowledge it.

"You'll just have to wait and see won't you? Wait until the bodies of the dead litter the ground and the snow turns black. Wait until your precious Water Tribes are fallen. Then, I think, you'll be able to see quite clearly what my intentions are."

He snarls and lunges towards her, sword at the ready but when he brings it down to cut through her flesh, she just smiles and back steps off the edge of the cliff, her laughter echoing off the ice.

"Damnit!" He throws the sword to the ice and stares out over the horizon, waiting for something he can't quite imagine but nevertheless knows is coming.

**VI**

The first sign is black snow. It chills the blood in Sokka's veins as it darkens the sky and stains the ground. The Water Tribe warriors are confused at first, staring up at the sky as if it has betrayed them and watching the sea for impending disaster once they've come to understand.

The Fire Nation is coming and they can only hope that they're prepared.

Sokka waits with his toes against the edge of the cliffs that overlook what has been the practice field, what will be the battlefield. He knows that Zuko will come to him just as the Fire Nation has come to Water Tribes. He knows Zuko will come and he will try to explain, try to make Zuko see his sister's treachery, but he knows that this can only end in a fight. It will be their most glorious battle yet and it will decide everything.

He hears snow crunching against rock behind him and he doesn't turn. He sees black beasts of ships on the horizon, speeding towards the rocky shoreline with only one intention.

"Face me."

Zuko's voice is low and determined. It gives no room for argument but Sokka's never been one to follow unspoken commands. He is the brain of the battle and Zuko is the heart, the passion. They are brilliant together but just as deadly apart.

"I don't want to fight you anymore." Sokka keeps his voice neutral and calm but it still shakes with emotion, with exhaustion. He means every word that he's about to say, and maybe he didn't realize it before but he accepts it now. He doesn't want to be the Lotus tile in someone else's game of Pai Sho.

"You should have thought of that before…"

"Before what? Before _Azula_ told you that I betrayed you?" He rounds on Zuko, his face an open canvas of emotions. His hand is resting on the hilt of his sword but he makes no move to draw it. He is confronted with the sight of Zuko already prepared for battle. Sokka's face is decorated with war paint and his arms and legs are wrapped with thick leather to protect his skin but Zuko's image strikes him numb every time. His armor is heavy and dark like the color of clotted blood. He isn't wearing his helmet but Sokka knows it makes him look like a demon in battle.

Zuko's twin blades are gripped tightly in his fists at either hip, bathed in flame, his knuckles white where they bend around the hilts.

"You had your chance to deny it. It's too late now. "

"That's exactly what she said. That by the time I could convince you that she'd lied to you, it would be too late!"

Zuko's good eye narrows and his swords begin to lower, the flames flickering out, and Sokka's hope begins to rise. He thinks that Zuko might actually be listening to him, might…

"Whether you did it or not…"

"But I didn't, Zuko! I came to him as an owl, in a dream, one time! All I did was show him the Water Tribes and put the idea in his head! I never touched him. You're the only one…" Sokka's almost pleading with Zuko, almost begging to him to accept the truth and give up the fight. He barely hopes that Zuko will relent but he has to try or else he'll have nothing. They'll fight and they will both lose.

"This doesn't change anything between us. It never should have. This is war, Sokka. _We_ are war."

The instant that the first Fire Nation ship breaks ground, the grinding and dissonant echoes of steel clashing with rock screaming in their ears, Zuko is upon him and Sokka barely has time to pull his sword from its scabbard and block Zuko's twisting blades. The sound of the ensuing battle rages below them, every echo of steel glancing off steel at their hands, repeated ten thousand fold beneath them. Their grunts and groans as they strain against each other are the sounds of the walls falling and soldiers dying.

Their battle rages on for days then months and then years and neither backs down and neither side comes up the victor on the ground. The dead litter the battlefield, blood staining the snow where soot hasn't already. Sokka's muscles are weak with fatigue and Zuko stripped his armor off when it began to weigh too heavy on his shoulders. They are dripping with sweat and tired and it is only by sheer determination and the power of being fueled by rage that has given Zuko the upper hand.

Zuko's chest heaves with every breath and his hair hangs in his face, obscuring the disfiguring scar. He has one blade pointed straight out, the sharp edge digging into the curve of Sokka's neck and shoulder. The other blade is lost as is Sokka's, dropped sometime throughout their skirmish and forgotten.

"This has to end. We've been fighting for too long." Sokka whispers, each word pushing his shoulder more into the blade. Zuko shakes his head but he is relenting, Sokka can see it. They're at a standstill and by the silence in the air, they can tell that something similar is happening on the ground. Much of the Water Tribes' forces have retreated behind what is left of the glorious wall and despite their own exhaustion, the Fire Nation continues to lay siege to the city.

The great General Iroh leads the assault with his son at his side. The man Zuko would have lead his nation and honor his name. The greatest warriors of the Water Tribes still stand outside the walls, Hakoda and his second, Bato and Pakku the Master Waterbender and even Jet who owes them nothing but still fights with a smirk on his face.

They are both too tired to do much more than watch, stone still in their stances, neither giving or taking an inch, as the fighting continues, smaller but just as destructive. They don't notice as Ozai sits safe away from the fray, a golden apple clutched in one hand and a bloodthirsty smile on his face. But they can feel the heaviness of the air around them, weighing on them, crushing their chests.

Something is coming and it feels like the end.

Jet moves forward and encounters Lu Ten. The sword point at Sokka's throat drops to the ground as Zuko's arm falls to his side. Steel clashes with steel as the hilt hits the ground. It's a dance of skill and strength. Jet is lithe and sinewy. Lu Ten is built and strong. Jet dances around him, hooked swords reaching out and trying to trip as Lu Ten turns and blocks and strikes, using momentum to put strength behind his weapon. The gods watch, shoulder to shoulder, their own personal fight forgotten. It isn't about them anymore. This is what they have wrought but it is no longer for them to finish.

Jet dives forward, his feet light on the ground like those of a dancer but his dance is deadly and dizzying and it shows on Lu Ten's face. It is tight with exertion, lines digging into his skin as he grimaces and roars a battle cry. Jet's snarl isn't audible but it's visible in his expression. He catches Lu Ten's ankle, trips the bigger man up, but Lu Ten regains his balance before he can fall and swings around, catching Jet's shoulder with the flat of his blade. Jet falls forward, twists, rights himself fluidly with a stretch.

The blades clash again, the men yell, Jet's still smiling but it's strained. There's a fire in Lu Ten's eyes and it extends to his hands but the light show doesn't faze the Earth Kingdom boy, man now. He keeps moving, dodging, feinting, taunting. Lu Ten keeps following , growling, striking, fighting. Zuko leans into Sokka's shoulder, hot pressure against his skin. The fight is a blur of movement below them. The air is tense, crackling with electricity, literally, crackling with _electricity._ And Sokka knows that Zuko doesn't do that, that he doesn't create lightning. It's not coming from Zuko because Sokka would be able to feel it where their fingers are intertwined at their sides and he holds his breath because this is it. This is the end.

The ground rumbles at the same time that an arc of lightning flashes in the sky about them. It shifts and moves and everyone stills for an instant, even the fighters.

"What…" Zuko breathes and even though Sokka feels like he doesn't have any breath left, he squeezes Zuko's hand, clenches it, and waits.

Lu Ten takes a step back and the lightning hits the ground less than step from his foot. He isn't prepared for the searing heat and his legs buckle. He flails wildly as he starts to go down, blade slashing deadly through the air and Jet's already pushing forward, striking out. The tip of his hook sword slashes across Lu Ten's chest beneath his armor, where there's only cloth between the steel and the soft pink flesh of Lu Ten's stomach. Jet almost looks surprised, like he didn't mean to do it but it's too late to abort and he's forced to follow through and the point of the blade rips through Lu Ten's skin, leaving a chasm of red in its wake.

Zuko starts forward but Sokka holds him back. There's nothing for Lu Ten now. Jet almost looks happy, almost looks victorious, but there's confusion in his eyes and a shake in his step, like he knows that something about this is wrong but he doesn't know what. Someone's wailing, the sound hanging on the air. It takes Zuko a moment to see that it's Iroh, kneeling in the snow next to the body of his son, his hands twisted in the ripped cloth of Lu Ten's uniform.

"No, no , no…"

A shadow falls over the battlefield as Mai strides across it, her face blank. She's been as constant in this war as Sokka and Zuko have and the only sign that it has worn on her at all is the imperceptible way that the blades in her hands tremble. She glides easily through the carnage and the debris, unseen by mortal eyes, and stops at Lu Ten's motionless body, blades gripped lightly between her fingers. When Iroh looks up, she falters, surprise glancing across her face. He reaches out and grasps for her robes, eyes pleading, heart broken. Mai looks almost sympathetic for a moment and she shakes her head sadly as she pulls the silk from Iroh's fingers. The general collapses to the ground, shaking with grief, and Mai bends, touches the tips of her blades to the dead warrior's forehead. His spirit rises up behind her, a shadow on the air. She looks up just once and meets Zuko's gaze. Her expression is unreadable to Sokka but he feels Zuko shake and collapse against him and he has to wrap his arms around the other god's shoulders to keep him up.

"She did it. Azula really did it." He whispers. "I'm sorry, Zuko."

Zuko doesn't respond except to dig his fingers into Sokka's flesh where they are wrapped around his biceps and Sokka doesn't know what to do but hold Zuko tighter and murmur into his hair. The glowing gem of the Water Tribes lies crumbling before them, glory lost. Zuko's nation has been stolen out from under him, everything he's given to the Fire Nation taken by his own sister to be bestowed upon a mad man. Zuko and Sokka have hated each other for hundreds of years and loved each other for just as long and longer, and now they find themselves overlooking the destruction of everything they thought they were fighting for. The world they built feels like it's disintegrating beneath their feet and Zuko's the only thing Sokka can hold onto. He's the only thing that feels real anymore.

"Isn't this sweet? I'm so happy to see you two back together, truly. But I already told you it would be too late." Azula's voice echoes around them and Sokka's skin crawls.

Zuko wrenches himself from Sokka's embrace, already yelling. "Azula! This isn't over!"

But Azula's gone, only the lingering scent of apples and the ringing cacophony of her laughter in his ears.

"You lose, Zuzu."


End file.
